That night, Nickan slept peacefully, his mind filled with images from Sengoku's world—the clash of swords, Princess Argia's sacrifice, and the promise of a new beginning with the Elven princess Elora. He looked forward to continuing the journey tomorrow, eager to discover what would happen next in the epic tale.
Morning arrived with golden sunlight filtering through his bedroom curtains. Nickan stretched and took his time getting up, following his usual routine—a hot shower, a simple breakfast of toast and eggs, and then settling on his couch to watch the morning news. The ordinary rituals of daily life seemed somehow less vibrant after experiencing the drama and intensity of Sengoku's world.
It wasn't until after he'd finished his second cup of coffee that Nickan thought to check his phone. He'd been hoping for a message from Airi, the girl he'd met at the bookstore last week, but what he found instead made his heart sink.
The screen displayed seventeen missed calls and multiple text messages, all from the same person: Mr. Roger, his grandfather's longtime friend and business partner.
The final message, sent just thirty minutes ago, read: "Coming to your house to check if you're alright. Be there soon."
"Damn it," Nickan muttered, quickly scrolling through the earlier messages. Something was clearly wrong, but he had no idea what could be so urgent as to warrant such persistence.
He hastily changed from his loungewear into more presentable clothes, and just as he was running a comb through his hair, the doorbell rang. Ten minutes—that's all the warning he'd had.
When he opened the door, Mr. Roger stood on the threshold, his normally composed face tight with tension. Though in his seventies, Roger Hartman typically carried himself with the energy of a much younger man. Today, however, he looked every one of his years.
"Nickan! Thank goodness you're alright," Mr. Roger said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Roger. I had it on silent mode," Nickan explained, closing the door behind him.
He decided against mentioning the hours he'd spent absorbed in his grandfather's book—it would sound ridiculous to say he'd been "living" inside a story. "What's happened? Is everything okay?"
Mr. Roger removed his coat and sat heavily on the living room sofa. "No, everything is not okay. There's a woman—Vivian, she calls herself—claiming to be your grandfather's secret second wife."
"What?" Nickan felt as though the floor had dropped away beneath him.
"She's filed a case against you," Mr. Roger continued, his voice grave. "She's contesting your right to Nichol's royalties, claiming she deserves a share as his widow."
"That's absurd!" Nickan exclaimed, pacing the room as anger and disbelief battled within him. "Grandfather never mentioned remarrying after Grandmother died. He would have told me—or at least told you!"
Mr. Roger nodded emphatically. "That's right! I've known your grandfather Nichol for a long time and was his closest friend above all, but he never kept anything secret from me except certain things like his new works. I'm also dumbfounded hearing that lady's claim as I've never heard of it before from Nichol, so we've got to be cautious."
Nickan stopped pacing and faced the older man. "What's her full name—this supposed wife?"
"Vivian. Vivian Lowell, according to the court documents."
The name meant nothing to Nickan. He'd never heard his grandfather mention anyone by that name.
"What do I do now?" he asked, feeling suddenly overwhelmed.
"The court demands your presence today," Mr. Roger replied, checking his watch. "That's why I'm here to pick you up."
"Today? Right now?" Nickan's voice rose in disbelief.
Mr. Roger nodded grimly. "Yes, there's two hours left before the official hearing starts."
Nickan rushed to his bedroom to change into appropriate attire for court. His mind raced as he pulled on a suit he rarely wore. The royalties from his grandfather's books were his primary source of income while he worked on his own writing despite being unsuccessful. If this woman—this stranger—succeeded in her claim, he might lose everything.
Forty minutes after getting into Mr. Roger's car, they arrived at the courthouse with time to spare, thanks to the light traffic.
As they walked up the courthouse steps, Nickan spotted her immediately. She sat alone on a bench near the entrance—a stern yet dignified elder with silver hair tied in a tight bun and sharp eyes behind wire-framed glasses. She exuded an air of quiet authority. Clad in a modest green cardigan adorned with a single daisy pin, she carried herself with unwavering poise and a no-nonsense attitude. Though her expression rarely softened and her arms were often crossed in disapproval, there was something about her—perhaps a hidden warmth beneath the surface, one reserved only for those who earned her trust.
When she noticed them approaching, she stood and walked directly toward Nickan. Her gaze never wavered, and there was something in her eyes that unsettled him—a look of recognition, of familiarity.
"How you doing, grandson?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of an accent he couldn't quite place.
The presumption ignited Nickan's anger instantly. "Who's your grandson, you impersonator?" he snapped, louder than he intended.
Her reaction was not what he expected. Instead of defensiveness or anger, her face crumpled in hurt. She stepped back as tears welled in her eyes. "For money, you'd forget me," she said, her voice breaking. "I just wanted to see you."
Before Nickan could respond, Mr. Roger grabbed his arm firmly. "Not here," he muttered, steering Nickan away from the woman and toward the courtroom. "The judge has arrived. Save it for inside."
Taking deep breaths to control his anger, Nickan allowed himself to be led into the courtroom. As they passed Vivian, he couldn't resist shooting her one final glare. How dare she pretend to know him? How dare she try to steal what was rightfully his?
The proceedings began with formal introductions. Judge Helena Barrow, a woman with twenty years on the bench and a reputation for no-nonsense efficiency, called the court to order.
Vivian's attorney presented her case first—a claim that Nichol Wole, celebrated author and Nickan's grandfather, had secretly married Vivian Lowell fifteen years ago, shortly after the death of his first wife.
"Your Honor," the attorney said, "we have documentation to prove this marriage was legal and binding."
Judge Barrow raised an eyebrow. "I'd like to see this documentation."
To Nickan's shock, Vivian produced an official-looking marriage certificate, which was handed to the judge. After examining it carefully, Judge Barrow nodded.
"This appears to be in order," she said. "Mr. Nickan, do you have any evidence that contradicts this certificate?"
Nickan stood, his mind racing. What evidence could possibly disprove a marriage certificate? Then, an idea struck him.
"Your Honor, if this woman truly was my grandfather's wife, then she should be able to answer a simple question about him." He turned to face Vivian directly. "Can you tell the court what was the last book my grandfather wrote and kept unpublished?"
A small smile played at the corners of Vivian's lips. "Your Honor, there is no unpublished book kept. Nichol published everything he wrote."
Nickan couldn't suppress a triumphant smile as he reached into his bag. He had brought "Sengoku the Dragon" with him, just to be safe—the one unfinished book his grandfather had clearly left.
"I'd like to present this to the court," he said, holding up the leather-bound volume. "This is my grandfather's last, unpublished work—'Sengoku the Dragon'."
The book was passed to the judge, who opened it and began to flip through the pages. After a moment, she looked up, her expression hardening.
"Mr. Nickan, do you take this trial as a joke?" she asked sharply.
Nickan blinked in confusion. "Absolutely not, Your Honor. Why would you say that?"
In response, Judge Barrow turned the book around, showing its pages to the courtroom.
Gasps and murmurs filled the air.
"Why did you present an empty book?" Judge Barrow announced, looking concerned.
"What are you saying, Your Honor? It's full of writing despite not being finished!" Nickan protested, stepping forward to get a better look.
Sure enough, from where he stood, he could clearly see the text that filled each page—the story of Sengoku and his world, the very narrative he had been experiencing through the Memoir System.
But as he looked around at the confused and disapproving faces in the courtroom, a chilling realization dawned on him.
No one else could see the words. Only he could read the book.
"Showing an empty book is a waste of this trial," Judge Barrow declared firmly. "Based on the evidence presented, I'm inclined to rule that the rightful owner of the royalty is Miss Vivian Lowell, as the legally wedded spouse of the deceased Mister Nichol."
Panic surged through Nickan. "Please, Your Honor," he begged, his voice cracking. "I need more time. I can gather more proof. Just give me two days—please."
Judge Barrow's expression suggested she was about to refuse, but something in Nickan's desperate plea seemed to reach her. After a moment's consideration, she nodded reluctantly.
"Against my better judgment, I will grant you two days to produce credible evidence," she said sternly. "This court will reconvene on Thursday morning at ten o'clock. Do not waste the court's time again, Mr. Nickan."
"Thank you, Your Honor," Nickan said, relief washing over him despite the precariousness of his situation.
As the court adjourned, Nickan found himself being led out by a concerned Mr. Roger. "What happened in there?" the older man asked once they were in the hallway. "Why would you bring a blank book to court?"
Nickan shook his head, trying to make sense of it all. "My bad!"
Mr. Roger studied him with growing concern. "Nickan, this is court and there was nothing written in that book. Not a single word, you're lucky that the judge gave you time regardless."
Before Nickan could respond, he caught sight of Vivian watching him from across the hall. There was something in her expression that hadn't been there before—not triumph or mockery, but what looked almost like pity.
As their eyes met, she mouthed something that he couldn't quite make out. Then she turned and walked away, her posture straight and dignified despite her years.
Nickan stood frozen, his mind racing with questions but then jolting back to reality he replied to Mr Roger, "I know."
Then they left the courthouse.
As for Nickan he couldn't shake the feeling that his life had just become as strange and unpredictable as the fantasy world contained within his grandfather's final creation. The line between fiction and reality was blurring, and he wasn't sure which side he was standing on anymore.